Nightmares
by thinkwinkink
Summary: When Mattie is plagued by nightmares following the death of another friend, a certain caring policeman is happy to provide what comfort he can. (Mattie/Charlie)
1. Chapter 1

_Over the sound of her own gasping breaths and weak sobs, she can hear a voice calling her name. She runs through the darkness, knowing she will not make it in time to save the life of someone she cares about. She runs as fast as she can, but the darkness seems to push back, slowing her further as she stumbles desperately on, tripping on obstacles unseen, she throws another fearful glance over her shoulder, neither seeing nor knowing what she sought, but afraid nonetheless. The voice calls her again, quiet as though far away, but also humming somehow with proximity to her. The voice is warm and gentle; the voice worries for her. Something strikes her shoulder. She whips around with a gasp, ready to scream._

"Mattie, shh. It's only me," the voice came again, murmured from just above her in the more natural, and less complete, darkness of her bedroom. A warm hand rested lightly on her shoulder, and she could make out the shadowy silhouette of the speaker.

She sighed and fell back onto the mattress from her tensed half-upright position. The friendly figure beside her bed straightened, the warmth of a soothing hand lost. She was sweaty and her legs tangled in the bedclothes. Her face felt tight, as though she had been crying, and she wondered if she had been.

"I didn't mean to scare you," Charlie said, shifting his weight between his legs. "I got up for water, and I heard you through the door. You were talking, sort of wailing and crying... I did knock..." he trailed off, folding his arms close to his lean body; in the dim light she could see the shape of his bare arms and tight-t-shirt-clad body, his curls which were always unruly at night, she had eventually come to know.

Charlie was a reserved sort of man, she reflected, and polite and formal on the surface. As their little circle grew more familiar with him, trusted him a little more than before, his frosty exterior thawed a little, and he granted them the occasional smile, joke or favour. Even though this was his home for his time here in Ballarat, though, one wasn't likely to catch him walking around in his pyjamas or half-dressed with hair-ungroomed without a darn good reason.

He stood there next to her bed uncomfortably, while she lay and tried to calm her thrumming pulse, before clearing his throat quietly. "Well, sorry I woke you up. Just wanted to check that you were okay. If you don't need anything...?" he jerked a thumb at the ajar door and began walking backwards towards it slowly.

Mattie sat up. She felt jittery after this latest nightmare and his company was comforting. She wondered if he had been trained to be a solid and reassuring presence at some point in order to be made a constable, or if it came naturally. She thought of Danny and Bill Hobart, deciding it was probably inherent in his personality. "Wait," she said, and he halted his retreat. She wished she could see his face, more easily guess at what he was feeling, but she did see him move his head to the side slightly, which she imagined was accompanied by his raised eyebrows that silently communicated that he was awaiting further instruction.

She reached over to the bedside table flicking on the lamp. They both blinked in the sudden light, dull and further muted by the lampshade though it was. She squinted at him - then just looked at him - helplessly. She hated feeling helpless; she was strong and smart and didn't take no for an answer. But she was also grieving and shaken, and not too proud to refuse comfort and assistance when it was there for the taking.

He walked closer again. "Do you want to talk about it?" he offered, voice low so as not to wake Jean, who was presumably asleep in the room next to hers, between Mattie's and Charlie's.

She nodded with a weak smile and an embarrassed sniffle. She righted her blankets and slid to the far side of the bed, patting the area next to her in a silent invitation. He perched on the edge, facing her and at a safe distance. Mattie supposed the whole situation was a bit scandalous if taken out of context, and from her observation Charlie seemed to follow rules and social norms alike with a passion, at least until they clashed enough with his moral compass.

The young sergeant nodded encouragingly, much as he would when interviewing a shy witness, perhaps a child. She didn't find the gesture patronising, just saw that patience and desire to help that motivated him. She drew in a shaky breathe, hoping she was sufficiently composed to make it through her explanation.

"I've had these nightmares, lately. I had nightmares when a doctor at the hospital, Hazel, who was a friend of mine died. I, and a few other nurses, found her. We thought she'd hanged herself, but it was murder. That was just before Lucien went to find his daughter, so maybe a month before you came," she recounted. She had come to terms with the loss, and those dreams had rarely visited her in recent months. Nevertheless, she felt the tears welling up in her eyes and she pressed her mouth shut to struggle for control.

Charlie's sympathetic face morphed into one that called to mind her father calming her down when she was upset as a girl. He moved to sit closer beside her, rubbing her back, between her shoulder blades, with a gentle rhythm. She snaked her arms around his narrow waist and buried her face in his warm chest. He seemed surprised, freezing for a moment, before putting his arms around her, hugging her back with a gentle squeeze.

She could hear his steady heartbeat, feel his deep breathing and the movement of muscle and tendon as he shifted. It was so comforting, so warm. He rubbed her back slowly, and she relaxed against his firm but inviting form.

Turning her head to the side so that her voice wouldn't be muffled by fabric, she continued. "I was mostly past that. But when Emma was shot a few weeks ago-" her voice cracked, and he hummed in understanding, nodding and petting her hair gently. Again, it reminded her of her father, from a time before politics and philosophy came between them, his sure demeanour lending her strength.

"Everything's dark. There are always things in my way... Sometimes people trying to pull me back, but I'm running. I'm running as fast as I can because someone is dying and I don't know who but I have to save them and I love them. And something's is behind me. I can't see it but I know it's there," the words spilled from her mouth, rising in pitch until her companion shushed her gently. "Usually I wake up after it goes on like that for a while. Sometime I can hear people saying I'm letting them down, that it's my fault people are dying. But the worst thing is, sometimes I give up; I fall and don't get up because I know I'll never make it in time." The last sentence was quiet, haunted. Weighed by the burden of loss that few so young bore so many times over. Mattie had seen several friends and colleagues pass in recent years, and it was bound to have some effect.

Charlie hugged her tightly to him, keeping up the comforting movement on her back. After a period of silence, she felt him breathe in to speak. "As I'm sure you're well aware, dreams like that are just your mind ruminating on what it's afraid of. Mattie. You are one of the most determined and headstrong people I've ever met, maybe right behind the doc. I really can't see you giving up on anyone," he laughed quietly. "That people die - it wasn't your fault. You just have to find a way to accept their death and move on. Remember them, but don't torture yourself when there was nothing that you could have done," he advised, his tone sombre.

Mattie pulled back to look him in the eye. "You sound like you have some experience in the area," she noted carefully.

Their arms were still loosely at each other's waist, until he pulled back, his face turning formal as he focused on the wall. "Yeah, well. Being a policeman isn't the safest job in the world," he hedged making her frown at him. He stood and took a few steps away, before pausing and facing her again. Though his face was still stoic, his voice was soft. "My dad died when I was still in school. It took years to properly deal with it," he admitted to the little flowers on the wallpaper over her shoulder.

She nodded sombrely, neither of them speaking for a while. She looking at him sympathetically from her cocoon of quilts and sheets, and remained rigid and disciplined like a proper policeman as he mulled over the misfortunes of his past. A shudder coursed through his slender form, shaking him out of his reverie. No wonder, Mattie thought, since it was the middle of winter and they didn't heat the expansive house at night, and he wore his skin-tight t-shirt and pyjama bottoms with bare feet as always. She could see goose bumps on his exposed arms cast in shadow from the low light of her bedside lamp.

He looked back at her with his caring expression, open and trusting and offering a glimpse of what he was like with his brothers back in Melbourne. He tightly crossed his arms for warmth rather than defensiveness. "Can I get anything for you? Or do you reckon you'll be alright now?" he asked.

She ran a hand over her hair as she thought, before mimicking his pose for comfort. She felt okay right now, calmer and safer, with the grief of friends gone too soon more distant. It was as though the little world of her bedroom, speaking in hushed tones with Charlie, she wasn't so fragile, and that tougher version of herself was in another world. Here, she didn't have to fight to be taken seriously, and nobody was looking for a weak link in her armour to exploit.

She shook her head gently, her short curls bouncing unrestrained, and gave a little smile. Charlie ducked his head and returned her smile in a gesture that probably normally accompanied a small tip of his hat. He made to leave and Mattie felt her anxiety begin to creep back from the periphery at the prospect of being alone, in the dark, in absolute quiet until sunrise when the birds would start up.

"I know you probably have work..." she blurted. Charlie raised an eyebrow when she stopped mid-sentence, or maybe because of the urgency in her voice. In the dull light filtering through the lampshade his strikingly pale eyes looked like little pieces of the midnight sky beyond her curtains against porcelain skin.

"I guess I'm afraid to be on my own. I'm just tired of the nightmares, but I know they'll start up as soon as I fall back asleep, as always," she admitted, looking down at her hands. She was asking him to stay with her, though not in so many words. Jean would not be pleased, and Mattie knew what it sounded like. She just hoped that Charlie's drive to help people extended this far, and that he didn't care how it sounded.

He seemed to deliberate. "How about I wait with you until you fall asleep?" he offered with a grin. This was definitely the sort of thing one would do to placate a child, but Charlie's soothing presence was worth bearing the amusement dancing about the edges of his mouth.

He walked back over to the bed, then paused. "I'm going to freeze to death," he said under his breath as he folded himself into a comfortable seated position on the mattress, but they had already been whispering and she heard him perfectly clearly.

"I'm willing to share the quilt. It's the warmest in the house," she confided, with a grin.

After another considering pause, he stood and slid under the covers to lean on the pillows and stretch his long legs out beside her. She uncurled and lay down, resisting the temptation to snuggle up against his side. He took the hand resting in front of her face and held it between his own, rubbing the back slowly with a thumb. Mattie watched, mesmerised by the repetitive motion, his fingers long and deft, and of course ghostly pale to match the rest of him, wrapped around her own, smaller hand.

As they sat in silence, he rested his head against the wall, switching off the lamp and staring at the ceiling, shrouded in thick shadow. Mattie could still see him in the little moonlight sneaking into the room. The inky cloak falling over the familiar surroundings couldn't obscure him, and so she felt beyond its reach too.

Their clasped hands rested on his flat stomach, rising and falling with each breath. She felt the muscles bunch and relax as he shifted a little farther down into the bed. He yawned, the movement of his defined jaw sliding beneath skin fascinating. He fell still aside from his fingers, face upturned and so hidden to her, so she focused back on their hands.

They weren't rough, but just a smidgeon smoother than hers. Typing, writing and running weren't particularly rough work in terms of the hands; he was more likely to hurt his knuckles than get blisters. Her usual routine wasn't onerous in that sense either, but as a nurse she had to wash her hands frequently. She mused on the fact that he was a protector - he used those hands to restrain criminals, threw them up discourage violence, direct traffic and comfort witnesses and victims - and so was she. She stitched wounds, righted bedclothes, comforted and treated and soothed. And now he was protecting her, shielding her in a far more symbolic sense than was his usual mode, but it was unusual for her to need it. She could make it on her own, but having someone to lean on rather than being the support was a relief.

Mattie relaxed. She hadn't slept in the same bed as another person since she was young; she had been in bed with Joe when she thought she was in love with him and he visited from Melbourne, but had sneaked out of the house before she could be seen or missed. The warmth and gentle noises reminding her that she wasn't alone were very welcome changes to her routine.

"Are you asleep yet?" Charlie breathed. She felt him as well heard him say it, as she was sure there was humour in his voice.

She poked him in the stomach, eliciting a flinch and whispered cry of complaint. "No, and asking me isn't going to help, you know," she chastised with a smile. Charlie let go of her hand and crossed his arms with a harrumph. Hers was left on his belly, but she didn't bother moving it. She closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind.

After several minutes of peace, her companion started wriggling. He stretched his back this way and that, and she swatted his tummy gently. "What are you doing now?" she mumbled half into her pillow.

"This bedhead is a lot less comfortable than it looks," he said.

"Well, move."

"That's what I'm doing."

"I meant move properly."

"Fine," he groaned. He slid down so that he lay completely on the bed, rotating his shoulders as if testing he would be comfortable there. His head of chestnut curls rested on the other pillow, so she could stare at his handsome face to her heart's content. In the process her hand had slid to the far side of his waist, and it would be strange to move it at this point, so she left it there. She hadn't moved all the way to the far side of the bed, wanting to be closer to where he sat, but she was now probably too close, inadvertently embracing him and narrowly avoiding pressing their bodies together down their length. After feeling a little awkward initially, however, Mattie soon slipped off into dreamless sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

She woke early the next morning, her awareness gradually returning to her. She was comfortable and not battered by tragic and terrifying dreams, and little light filtered through her eyelids. It took another moment to realise that she was rising and falling with breaths that were not her own, and something warm and heavy rested on her back.

She opened her eyes to the dimly lit room, a sliver of morning sunlight pushing through the gap in the curtains. Right in front of her was a neck and jaw, her head resting on the attached shoulder, the arm wrapped around her back to rest on her hip. Charlie was still asleep, apparently, breathing deeply. She carefully raised her head, trying not to brush his skin with her hair or do anything to wake him. Sure enough, his eyes were closed and his features completely relaxed, peaceful.

She lay back down, thinking that she'd never seen him so before. He was always thinking, or making a tongue-in-cheek comment, good-naturedly fighting with the doctor or something else. She felt honoured to see him without the armour of his businesslike front.

Her arm was still around his waist, and his other hand rested on top of it, not to mention she was trapped in his embrace. She really couldn't move without waking him. Craning her neck, she saw that her alarm wouldn't ring for half an hour. She didn't want to take advantage of him, nor did she want to have to wake him. She decided to stay exactly where she was and enjoy his embrace until the alarm 'woke' them both.

He shifted in his sleep, tightening his arms and nuzzling her hair, with a low hum in his throat. Mattie froze, determined not to disturb him further. Her face against his neck and chest, she smelt the clean scent of soap and whatever else he used. It was a nice, friendly sort of smell, masculine but not brutish. It matched him perfectly.

He sighed and mumbled something unintelligible, moving again so that he was half on top of her. She didn't mind the weight down her body, but she didn't know what to do with her arms. Keep them wrapped around him or let them fall? She could feel his breath against her neck, managing not to shiver. This was a more intimate position than she had ever expected to be in with the straight-laced sergeant.

Another, much louder sigh, and he rolled off her - about which she had mixed feelings - and the kept going, pulling her to lie on his chest. She held her breath, her face inches from his. She very gently withdrew her arms, as it was difficult to hold this position of not touching his face without the support of her arms.

His abdominal muscles clenched under her hips. She froze again. He seemed to be fighting a smile. Suddenly his eyes were open and he burst into laughter, his hands leaving her back to muffle it. She glared and pushed off him, sitting beside him with arms crossed.

"Sorry, but that was so funny. Why didn't you try to wake me up?" he chuckled. He flipped back the covers and stood.

"Well, the way I see it, you did me a favour and the least I could do is not deprive you of any more sleep than I have done already," she defended herself.

Charlie made a sceptical face and let out a quiet snort of laughter. He went to the door and opened it a crack peering out into the corridor. Mattie got out of bed and followed.

"What's that face for?" she hissed.

"Nothing, I believe you," he placated her, but didn't put much effort into seeming earnest.

Mattie glared up at him, having to tilt her head back on account of their unexpected proximity. "Somehow, I remain unconvinced," she ground out.

He stopped peeking out of the room and returned his focus to her. He eyed her for a minute, then he feigned nonchalance. "Like I said; it's nothing. So what if you're a very… vocal sleeper," he said with a cheeky smile.

"A _what_?" she demanded.

"Oh, you know, you just make a lot of noise while you're sleeping. That's why I came in last night, remember? You're loud when you're upset, but apparently you mumble a lot even when you're… happy," he explained, whispering for obvious reasons but increasingly looking like he wanted to laugh.

Mattie squirmed under his gaze, both wanting to know and decidedly _not_ wanting to know what she had said in her sleep.

He grinned adorably and leant even closer. "I can see why I would have been on your mind, but I had no idea you thought so highly of me," he teased.

The nurse pouted, turning her face to the side to avoid his smugness. "Fine, whatever you say. Is the _coast clear_ , or not?" she grumbled.

"And if I say it's not?" he asked, and Mattie could have sworn he was flirting with her. Blue eyes locked, and Mattie fought for control. Fought not to notice his wild, gorgeous hair, his lean body or the fact that both of them were wearing nothing but pyjamas, how the morning had made his normally smooth voice a little rough.

"I'll just have to see for myself," she said, lifting her chin.

He casually propped his shoulder against the doorframe. "What if I don't let you?" he countered.

"I'll have to make you let me."

"How are you going to do that, Mattie?" he practically purred.

She stood toe to toe with him, if not to eye to eye, and gave him a coy smile. "I suppose you'd win in physical fight, but I think I could charm my way past," she said softly.

"I'm sure you could," he whispered, before swinging the door wide and waltzing out. "See you downstairs."


	3. Chapter 3

Mattie trudged up the stairs, almost delirious with the anticipation of at last collapsing into bed. She'd had to work late into the night, two nights in a row. Obviously she was exhausted, but she was even more on edge because it meant she hadn't seen Charlie since the morning before, and felt certain they had unfinished business.  
Just as she was about to walk into her room, she heard a strange noise, one that made her pause to listen. She was about to let it go and go to bed when she heard it again. A groan, coming from across the hall, either in pain or frustration. Coming from Charlie's room. She deliberated, then knocked on the door.  
She waited, then slowly opened the door. She was surprised to find that the bedside lamp was on, and Charlie sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed, brow furrowed and head bent over a large notebook of some kind. She cleared her throat and he looked up with a start.  
"Mattie? What are you doing up at this hour?" he asked, placing his pencil in the book and closing it.  
"I could ask you the same thing. I was about to go to bed, but it sounded like you were in pain," she teased.  
He flapped a hand dismissively, while the other tugged gently at his mop of hair. "I couldn't get a drawing right. It's really annoying," he explained.  
Mattie came farther into the room. "Sketch of a crime scene?" she asked doubtfully.  
He shrugged.  
"May I?" she asked, reaching towards the sketchbook.  
He deliberated, before opening it to the page on which he had been working. She noticed the side of his left hand and his fingertips where smeared with graphite. On the page was a minutely detailed picture of a bloom from the garden, with the surrounding greenery recreated in less detail and hints of the house behind. It was masterfully done, and Mattie drank in the artwork before turning her wide eyes to Charlie.  
"I didn't know you were an artist. Do you often stay up late perfecting your drawings?"  
He leant forward and pointed to one of the petals, so lifelike though rendered in grey, finger tapping the page. "I can't get that last part right. I couldn't sleep, so I thought I might as well do something productive with my time," he shrugged, gently pulling the book from her grasp and placing it on the bedside table.  
Mattie looked down at him, slightly dishevelled and downcast, sat in the middle of his bed. He looked vulnerable, almost childlike. He had evidently noticed the smudges on his hands, too, and rubbed at them, not looking up when she perched on the edge of his bed.  
"Why can't you sleep?" she probed softly.  
He shrugged again, and though his head stayed down while he fiddled with the hem of his pyjamas, she could see his brow furrow.  
"Just… a lot going on. With the boss and everything, and my brother Tom is sick," he admitted, trying to sound casual.  
Mattie nodded in understanding. "What's wrong with him?" she asked gently.  
His eyes flicked up to hers, then back down to his lap. "Not sure exactly. Mum's taking him to the doctor again tomorrow. He'll be fine, probably, but his fever's pretty bad, and he keeps asking for me…" his voice petered out and he was seemingly lost in thought.  
Mattie leant forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You're right, I'm sure he'll recover. Kids are stronger than people think," she encouraged. "Try to sleep, alright?"  
He gave her a small but grateful smile and a nod, and she left to get ready for bed, not quite closing the door behind her.  
A quarter of an hour later, she decided to check on Charlie once more before going to sleep. Nudging the door open as quietly as the old hinges permitted, she peeped into the room.  
Charlie hadn't moved, aside from hunching over his sketchbook again, hand darting deftly over the page. His hair fell forward on his forehead, remaining there as he glanced up to see the source of the noise. He looked faintly guilty when she gave him a disapproving look. He did not, however, put down the pencil.  
She raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing?" she asked pointedly.  
"Drawing. I had an idea," he explained innocently.  
She stepped into the room, cocking her hip as she stared him down. "I meant, why aren't you sleeping?" she clarified.  
He smiled cheekily, finally setting his pencil down. "It's easier said than done, you know. Besides, some ideas can't wait," he shrugged.  
"Mm hm. And what was this fantastic idea then?"  
He opened his mouth to answer, then close it and looked away, looking almost bashful.  
"Are you… blushing? Maybe I don't want to know," she laughed.  
He seemed to weigh his words, speaking slowly. "I thought that… I suppose I'd like to… When you were sitting here before, the lighting on your face was really interesting. It made me think I could draw you," he managed.  
Mattie blinked at him. She'd never seen him struggle for words that much. She was flattered, really. Not only did he have a secret talent that he was willing to show her, but he wanted to draw her.  
"Well, that definitely sounds interesting. Just maybe not this late at night. Or should I say early in the morning?" she responded, recovering from her surprise.  
He sighed, but closed his book and climbed off the bed. Putting his drawing supplies on his desk, he gave her a resigned look. "There. I'll stop for the night," he surrendered.  
She grinned triumphantly. "Glad to hear it. If I leave, are you definitely going to go to sleep?" she asked shrewdly.  
He smiled. "I can't promise that, but I will try. How are you, by the way?" he replied, seriousness edging back into his expression.  
"I was fine last night, after you woke me up. I don't think I'm magically cured though," she sighed, giving a small shrug.  
He assessed her for a moment. "You can sleep here tonight, if you want. If company helps you, I don't mind," he offered.  
She blinked. "Are you sure?" she hesitated. She wanted to take him up om his generosity, but he'd already been so kind to her.  
"Yeah, sure," he laughed. "Besides, with you here I'll be to scared to give in to the temptation to get my sketchbook out again. As long as you promise to sit for me later, it's a win-win, the way I see it."  
She gave a little laugh as she shook the hand he held out to seal their bargain.

The first thing that came to Mattie was a warmth that was somewhat familiar to her. The smell of Charlie, next, and the quiet noises of the man himself.  
She was curled into him more than the day before, her head on the centre of his chest and a leg between his. She supposed she should worry about waking him, how to get out this position without awkwardness, Jean happening upon them, any number of things. But she decided to just let them go. She had the day off, and presumably Charlie didn't have to be anywhere soon or he wouldn't still be lying beneath her.  
So she relished the toasty warmth of the bed, the soothing weight of the covers and Charlie's hands on her back. She committed the feeling of Charlie sleeping under her to memory, knowing it would help calm her when she was next plagued by nightmares and he wasn't available in the flesh.  
Mattie dozed for an hour or so before Charlie started waking up. He stretched and flexed a bit as he came to, eyes fluttering open when he registered her presence.  
She lifted her head to meet his gaze. "Good morning," she murmured pleasantly.  
He returned her smile. "Morning. You don't have a shift this morning, do you? It's my day off, I should've asked before," he said, letting her go and stretching more.  
She rolled off and sat up. "I'm off today as well. And I would've mentioned it had I needed to get up early," she reassured him.  
He got out of bed fluidly and strode to his drawers, rummaging through them as he spoke. "Ah, good. If you're free after breakfast, how about making good on your promise?" he proposed.  
She laughed a little nervously in reply. "Well, I don't see why not," she agreed, biting her lip.  
He threw a happy smile over his shoulder as he left the room in the direction of the bathroom.


	4. Chapter 4

They'd settled in the grass behind the house, in the end. Charlie had taken her to several locations around the house to stare at her for a few minutes before declaring the lighting wasn't right. Apparently he could draw her in any light so long as he could see the paper in front of him, but he was looking for something very particular to recreate.  
So, she sat on the grass, reading apart from when he asked her to move into a certain position, or when their sporadic conversation sprung back up. It was quiet, but comfortable, sitting in the sun with a cool breeze and good company. All her worries felt miles away.  
"Can you turn your face to look up at me?" he asked distractedly.  
She did, leaving her book in her lap, watching with interest as his gaze flicked from her to the page before him critically. Since the last time she had looked up, he had smeared a few more fingermarks in graphite across his forehead and on his cheeks. Gentle grey streaks that he wasn't aware of that made him look adorable, in her opinion.  
The sun made his hair gleam, and his skin look iridescent. His blue eyes glowed. He looked perfect, and so... light.  
She just continued to look him over while he stared at her and her likeness. Eventually she realised she might be being a bit odd, so she cleared her throat. "How is it going?" she asked, partly for something to say and partially due to the rekindling curiosity over what he would come up with. She'd never had an artist draw of paint her before, and she was eager to see the end result.  
"Well," he began, focusing on his drawing again, but frequently looking back up to check his work. "I didn't keep working on the sketch from last night. I thought it would be better to start again. I'm just about finished, though."  
Mattie sat in expectant silence for another few minutes until he spoke again.  
"There. I'm going to call that finished," he announced.  
She jumped up and walked over to see it. She gasped when she did.  
Rendered in grey-lead was an image of a woman, seated in a garden whose detail was hazy. But the woman, smiling slightly and caught in the moment of looking up at something off to the side, hands resting in her lap, was radiant. She wasn't just sitting in the sunlight, but she seemed to exude a pure glow from her very self. Most breathtakingly, the ethereal subject was undeniably her.  
"Charlie, it's beautiful. You're incredibly talented," she breathed from where she leant over his shoulder.  
He laughed quietly. "Thank you, but don't give me all the credit. It would have to be beautiful if it bore any resemblance to you," he said it honestly, without even looking at her, she was taken aback.  
She laughed uncertainly at his words, and he turned to frown at her. "I'm not joking," he said.  
"You really see me like that?" she asked softly, reaching out a fingertip to touch the very edge of the image.  
"Of course," he answered gently, and she turned to meet his eyes.  
They were only inches apart, since she had knelt behind him to see the drawing over his shoulder. Eyes held for an immeasurable moment, until a silent agreement was apparently made.  
There was a dull thud and tapping noise as Charlie dropped his pad and pencil, and his hand came up to slide along her jaw as he leant forward, twisting to face her better.  
Mattie's eyes fluttered shut just before their lips met. The soft, unhurried movement of their lips and tongues, the feeling of his fingers in her hair and his skin under hers were an answer to the peaceful melody of the buttery sunshine and cool breeze that washed over them.  
Her nightmares and the darkness that crept into the hollow spaces that her departed friends had left behind couldn't have been further away.


End file.
